Fwd: holiday wishes from the Carribean

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I'm still sailing around the virgins.  Hope you and yours are well and the best in the new year.

Mark Grant

s/v Natie M. 

holiday wishes from the Carribean

 

I'm still sailing around the virgins.  Hope you and yours are well and the best in the new year.

Mark Grant

s/v Natie M. 

another tree

I took alot of shots of trees, but this is one of my favorites.

back to the virgins

Well my visit to Grenada ended soon enough.  As I heard that it was now October, I started making ready for tte passage back to St john, saying goodbye to friends, fixing what needed to get fixed,  and finally made the jump, saying farewell to that wonderful island.  Its definately on the 'going to visit again'list.  The combination of friendly people, no matter what their color, and amazing scenery made me wish I could stay longer.  but alas, as a US citizen I cannot work there without alot of difficulty, both beareaucratic and financial.  Another factor is that the world depression has hurt the island, with the tourism sector having taken in the teeth with hurricanes and lack of tourists.  Even with the difficulties that Grenadans face every day, they are a warm, friendly optimistic people. 

My last two weeks in Grenada I was working with a shipwright building a 75 foot wooden mast.  It was funny to think that someone chopped down a huge Doughlas Fir in brittish columbia, sawed it down to demensional lumber, shipped it down to the islands, where I and others put it back together close to its original shape, sans branches and pine needles of course.  I sometimes think I could work in a wood shop every day, expecially in a boat yard.   Something about ship building, carpentry with no right angles, is such a beautiful and organic trade.  While in the islands  I've had the chance to get onboard some beautiful vintage sailing yachts.  Vessels that have been lovingly restored to the condition they had when first launched as much as a 100 years ago.

My last month on Grenada was filled with more of the same.  Got to do some more hiking, mostly into the rainforest, trapsing through heavy rainforest, swiming in waterfalls, and accumulating all sorts of scratches and rashes from god knows what.  Hurricane Ivan destroyed alot of the big trees but there were still many to view.  Huge mahoganey and teak teak trees, some close to 150 feet.  Amazing canopies spread out like gigantic umbrellas, with orchids and ferns clinging to the sides and in the huge boughs.

Anyway, I'm back in St john, the boat needs work, as usual, and I'm spending my days now, varnishing a rich mans house.  Looks like I'm gonna make it out of hurricane season ok.  After seeing what H-Erol did to the neighborhood here, glad I missed that show.  Regatta season will be starting in a couple of months and I plan on competing with the natie m. in some of the classic boat races. 

I'm flying back to the states for thxgvg this year.  My mom misses me so I'll be meeting my daughter in south florida (yech) for about a week or so.  I'm also planning a trip to WV next fall at the latest, maybe we can get together then.  Any chance you could make the trip down?  Once here it would cost you nothing.  I've been sensing that the end of this crazy adventure is nearing its end someday.  I'm gonna have to find a 'real' job someday, though the thought of returning to the 'life' has me more than a little nervous.  I was sitting with a friend at anchor, who also left his career and home to fulfill a dream of sailing the carrib, talking of when the day comes where we will actually get up to go to an office everyday.  It wasn't that bad before working, just the idea of living in a rigid schedule; something that I have not done is what seems like a very long while, frankly, scares the willies out of me. 
So this sunday, gonna work on finding the leak in the dinghy, work on my stove and try yet again why that damned motor is acting up, ah the life of a sailor, not all glory and adventure, more like a continuous unending list of maintenance and repair.
Was back in St john no more than 2 days and almost got mugged just down the road from the dinghy dock. .

regards from a barstool in paridise,
mark

Grenada liming

September 23, 2010

Well the past six weeks have been a blur.  Not because of excessive activity or rather the type of activity that involves being up or at some particular place at any particular time ie a schedule.  Yes, I've been living the smooth and relaxing time space continuum of the Lesser Antilles.  I've been mostly hanging around Grenada, getting up when the sun gets up and generally following the same to bed at night.  Grenada is a wonderful place.  I know I have declared in the past that the little piece of paradise that I find myself is the best, but Grenada is defiantly one of the best.  I have been walking, biking, riding the bus all over the island, meeting people, dancing with people, and just going with the flow of this most wonderful spot on the planet. 

The bike has been a great asset.  As you may recall I have my road bike somehow crammed into one of the cockpit lockers.  Since here though, its spent half the time on shore, secured at night is some spot where its reasonably safe (no crime here to speak of, and they don't enjoy gun play like in the USVI), and during the day before its gets too hot, I hit the road.  The strategic placement of numerous watermelon stands makes for re-hydration and meeting new friends.  The roads compare with anywhere that I have lived and biked in the US mainland. Yes there are some serious hills; I'm not saying I've been pulling a Lance Armstrong climbing the Pyrenees, but their doable.  Most of the coastal roads are a reasonable rolling winding band hugging the coast.  The roads are pretty smooth and the traffic where heavy reasonably well behaved.  Even the speeding taxis beep the horn as the come up on you.  I've extensively biked about ¾ of the island and from my new anchorage in St Davids Bay, plan on exploring the north shore and the historical Sauteurs city there.

In the center of the island is the Grand d'Etang forest preserve, which is spectacular in its rainforest and large trees.   On one ride I grinded my way to the 1900 foot elevation and was rewarded with a breathtaking downhill, with ferns and tropical vegetation crowding in on the winding hairpins as I flew onto the other side of the island.  Have to admit I was a little concerned with the condition of my brake shoes on many of the downhills.  I've got new tires and tubes as a blowout would involve a little more than a case of road rash, rather an airborne flight off the deep ravines that line the side of the road in many places.  On one ride I found myself lost, due to some bad information on directions and on the side of a mountain in a small village called New Hampshire.  Seemed everyone was either hanging out in the shade in front of one of the rum huts.  All eyes where locked on me as I shot into town on the heals of a speeding taxi van.  I managed to brake and of course the toe clip jammed once I came to a stop, and I toppled over in front of the crowd.  I didn't say anything, maintaining composer, acting like 'I did that on purpose of course!, out loud I asked "you all have cold beer?".  Everyone laughed and a couple of beers later and some smoke, I sitting with my new friends learning on what was up in New Hampshire.  I rode around this beautiful valley with its flowers and thick trees interspersed with small farm plots.  The soil here is amazing a dark volcanic soil that allows the island to produce most of its food supply.  As a result to don't see stores packed with processed food, and as a result obesity is almost non existent here. 

The small towns are extremely slow paced, you can almost out run them if you are sitting down.  I know there is unemployment but everyone seems to at least being fed.    

Also the island is dotted with several very scenic waterfalls.  On one occasion I did a 8 mile hike with a Scotsman sailor I met in Prickly Bay, like most cruiser very likable and we did the rather grueling hike through the forest on a barely discernable trail along mountain ridges, spectacular overlooks and down into deep and shear river valleys.  After 4 or so hours of scrambling and sliding we were rewarded with a beautiful vision of the Fontainebleau waterfall.  Our navigation was facilitated by my fellow trekker's possession of a British military map of the island that identified almost every turn in not only the roads but the minor roads and trails.  If I have a gripe with the local government is the total absence of any decent map of the island.  Like other several other islands when you ask at customs or the visitors bureau for a map of the island they give you one of those cartoon maps that tell you more on where to buy souvenirs or eat at restaurants then providing any sort of real or accurate geographical information.

We made a couple of turns and found ourselves scrambling up the rocks of a narrow creek bed.  As we rounded several bends and climbed to a vantage point over the numerous boulders that littered the narrow canyon, the sound of falling water and then the beautiful site of a waterfall that came out the lushly vegetated ledge a100 feet above us.  The pool at the bottom was a pretty greenish blue color and these amazing cobalt blue fish flitted about the rocks beneath the surface.  Either side of the water fall was a cliff face with hanging ferns and plants.  The water was around 75 degrees which made the scratches and sore muscles and knees feel relief. 

I was later to hike another water fall with a good friend from the states, called Seven Falls, that stair stepped down through a series of drops in the rainforest.   We were a little disappointed at the efforts of a local to widen the trail so as to enable large crowds to get to the falls, another 'disneyfication' of the island.  This is a frequent criticism I have of the islands.  Either as the result of a large corporate resort or the influx of cruise ships, tourism, especially in its extreme form, taking over the entire economy (not here yet thankfully), turns the island into a whore, but I digress.

 

I've been using the ULI board a lot here, both as a replacement for my rapidly degrading and unreliable dinghy and to play in the wave with.  In Prickly bay I actually have achieved one of my goals of the whole voyage, in the finding of a decent anchorage with a nice break within paddling distance.  Some remnants of Hurricane Igor brought a beautiful and clean 3 foot wave into the shallow reef off the point.  It was perfect for the ULI and for several days, was out playing in the waves.   It was so good to feel the rush of riding a wave again after so many months. 

 

cariacou pics

Caricou

www.natiem.blogspot.com

Dateline Grenada, St George's Bay

Have been anchored outside of the harbor for two days now and that took some time to figure out.  I have arrived at the time of carnival, a time of the year here where keeping track of what particular day it is, much less what time, other than the general indicator of the sun, assuming of course that it is shining, which it hasn't much.  Although this trip has had it share of tribulations and equipment failures, it has had it experiences and rewards.

I ended up staying on Montserrat for 3 days and learned and saw a good amount of the island in that short time.  I met some scientists that worked at the volcano observatory and got to visit the observatory itself.  It was very impressive along with the awesome view of both the volcano and old road bay where I had my little adventure at anchor.  I hiked a rainforest trail on the other side of the island that since it had been raining almost consistently during and before my visit, had a beautiful set of shallow waterfalls near the summit of one of the mountains.  I also met several locals, including the marine police that assisted me earlier, that introduced me to the island.  It seems that the island is pinning its future hopes of recovery on the alter of tourism.  I hope it works out for them.  They are however a very friendly people who where positive about their future in the face of the catastrophe that they faced 14 years earlier, a cataclysm that caused a diaspora of many of their relatives and friends from the island.

 

Once I departed I wanted to make some miles south so except for a surreptitious overnight at a secluded bay on St Lucia, I went on to Dominica, where I anchored in Prince Rupert Bay.   It's a nice spot where I met my Australian friends on Stevee Jean and got to visit the town, while I caught up on my sleep and prepared to continue on.  It was the first time also that I ran into the infamous Caribbean boat boy, men who made their living on 'providing' services and goods to visiting yachts.  Some of the 'boys' that I have encountered were good honest guys who provided fruit and vegetables, with a markup for those who could not or did not want to deal with the local markets ashore.  Generally I found the guys here annoying.  They were aggressive and positively put out when I declined their services, suggesting that they concentrate their marketing on the bigger more impressive yachts further out in the bay.  I was anchored close to shore so I was the first in line.  On one occasion I was awakened in the morning by a guy who had apparently swam out to my boat, climbed into the dinghy and plead his case for the need for work, so as to feed his numerous children, get a house and afford some much need medical procedure, displaying a nasty suppurating sore on his ankle as proof of his desperation.  I offered to dinghy him back ashore to seek medical care, when he declined, told him to get off my dinghy.  This did not go over well.  At the market in the village I bought some mangos but when I refused the entreaties of the other vendors, was met with derogatory comments as to my frugality and rudness at not spreading my yachting wealth.  I took it in stride but I was getting a little fed up.  I am more than willing to buy from a farmer selling mangos or vegetables at the side of the road but the aggressiveness of some of the boat boys is a real turn off.  Dominica is poor but a lush and beautiful island with lots of gardens and agriculture.  But again it was late in the season and the latitude was still too high.  I'll will return to Dominica,  to explore more of the coast and the interior. 

 

The following day moved the natie m. further south along the coast to get the jump for the next passage, and anchored near Roseau (pron. Rozo like bozo)  The famous cruiser friendly hotel there, mentioned in my guide book, was a derelect building now, apparently having gone out of business, looking now like the locals had striped everything including the sinks from the property.  It was a quiet spot though and I spent the night. 

Up anchor the following morning early I sailed into the following night and snuck into Martinique, in a secluded little bay with the intention of leaving at dawn so I would not have to check in.  Got four hours of sleep. With the first graying of dawning I was getting ready to leave.  An old fishermen with a grey beard rowed over in a small boat to talk to me about something in the French Creole of the island.  As much as I tried, still groggy from sleep, I could only understand through pantomime, that he was concerned about me cutting one of the lines to the fish pots which I now notice surrounded my vessel.  I tried to assure him that my intention was not to foul any of his lines and pulled up the anchor, along with I notices the several charter catamarans in the little bay, and started to motor out.  I did the slalom course out of the bay, surprised at the large number of fish pots that either I had amazingly avoided coming in the night before or had just been set by the brightly colored row boats tooling around the area.  I had only one more buoy marking the last obstacle.  Surely it would be ok to clear it within 15 or so feet of the buoy.  I took my attention away from my course to take a sip of tea and suddenly felt the motor make the straining noise that could only mean that I had fouled the prop on something.  What I saw now was that the buoy to the trap was surrounded by a huge radius of excess polypropylene line, like a giant birds nest, a good part of which was wrapped tightly around my prop shaft.  What the hell?  The depth sounder said 32 feet but there had to be over 100 feet of poly line floating around the marker. Exasperated at the prospect of not only a swim first thing the morning but facing the wrath of the local fisherman who no doubt noticed that I was at a complete stop, and was starting to row towards my position.  I jumped overboard and began to unwrap the line, in the turbid water, cutting my hand on the barnacles that I had neglected to clean from the area of the prop on the hull.  Irritated and embarrassed and bleeding, I climbed back into the boat, started the engine and started to leave.  I waved to the fisherman, barely out of range of their Creole curses and rounded the point southwards.  I fear I may have set back relations between locals and the American cruiser community a tad bit.

 

With Martinique off my stern I was finally sailed past St Vincent, again impressed with the lushness of the island and the numerous farms and gardens along the west coast.  I said on and once south of the island, finally entered the Grenadines.  I spent two days in Bequie, a very nice island.  The boat boys were much more civil and polite, and the local economy much more established with little cafes and shops.  It was a nice respite from the hectic  passage that I had undergone thus far.  I rested and took walks around the main town of Admiralty Bay which was crowded with both resident and transient yachts. The resident population seemed to be of a more affluent status than what I had seen so far in the windwards with several large houses overlooking the bay.  I did not get to explore much of the rest of the island though.  Next time.

On the 29^th of July I departed Bequie for Cariacou.  Almost immediately upon clearing the south part of the island, the wind started to freshen and numerous squalls kept me busy constantly reefing and trimming sails. At one point I was shadowing the numerous little islands of the Grenadines and being forced to beat away in 30 knot winds and rains so dense that visibility was less than a quarter mile.  Fortunately this weather like all weather I'd encounter on the trip was quick and past in 30 minutes or so.    It was a little unsettling though to be sailing unfamiliar waters with lots of reefs and little islands all along the way.  Finally, nearing the end of the day, I could see Cariacou dead ahead. 

 

Arriving at Tyrell Bay I was happy to see some old friends from my cruise through the Bahamas.  Opus was anchored right in the same little cove that I had decided would make a nice home for awhile.   Tyrell Bay is a quiet little anchorage with a small village and marina.  Jim, Linda and Jennifer where wonderful company, inviting me over to Opus for dinner and we spent the evening reminiscing of our travels.  They also gave me information on clearing in (tell the customs and immigration officer that you were anchored in Hillsboro, NOT Tyrell Bay, they get quite put out about anchoring there before clearing in).  After telling Jim that I was hoping to get a crew position on one of the racing sloops during the regatta, I informed me that he was planning the very same thing!  He invited me to meet him at the rigging area where the boat he was crewing on would be rigged for the race the following day.

Next morning caught a bus into Hillsboro.  I'm really feeling the Caribbean vibe, with modest but neat houses along the road, numerous rum huts, and lots of vegetation.

Hillsboro, itself is a nice town, with shops and stores and as the excitement of tomorrows regatta and associated festival building, numerous sidewalk bars and food stalls were being built out of scrap lumber, 55 gallon drums and basically any thing that would create a counter to which to sell drinks and food.  I acquired a map at customs and decided to try and walk to the bay where I was hoping to find Jim and the racing sloop, hoping to meet the owner/captain and gain a spot on the boat.  It was a bit of a walk along a well paved road to the airport and beyond that a dirt road that turned into a trail through a mangrove forest along the shore.  I asked some passerby, a little surprised to see me out in the boondocks and they confirmed that I was on course.   The trail through the mangroves was reasonably well marked and I kept a good pace, just keeping ahead of the cloud of mosquitoes hot on my scent. It wasn't long and the trail opened up onto Paradise Beach, aptly named with coconut palms and white sand, right out of a postcard, where the racing boats were to be rigged and launched in preparation for the great Cariacou regatta. 

The fist thing I noticed was that there were no sloops in sight, just a couple of the local wood speed boats that are more common for both transportation and fishing on these islands.  I walked with increased concern that I had missed the launching or was in the wrong bay, even though it was barely 10 in the morning.

I walked along the shore and just as I reached the end and was asking an aged Rasta where the race boats when I caught sight of Jim emerging from the thick forest just inshore.  Smiling and wishing me good morning he pointed to a sailboat hull tucked up on the shore next to a couple of rum huts surrounded by palms.  There were two other hulls further up the beach, under a palm thatch roof and all without masts.  I was aware that they were to be rigged today but expected to see boats with at least the standing rigging in place, much less some degree of activity.  But it was just Jim and I plus a couple of curious resident Rasta hanging out.  Nevertheless it was exciting to get close up to these locally hand made boats, descendants of the whale boats that where brought down from Nantucket more than a hundred years ago.  Stout framed double ender hulls with hardwood frames and beautifully faired hulls.  A lot of pride went into these locally built boats.  I was reminded of my experience in the Bahamas on Old Farm Cay during the regatta there.  But still it was just me and Jim and the old gentleman who had taken an interest in our arrival.  Jim showed me around and seemed to know the boat and the owner from racing the previous year.  He was optimistic that I would be able to get a crew position for the racing, and we poked around the building housing the other boats for the spars and rigging.  It was getting close to noon when the other crew and the owner showed up.  Very congenial gentleman, owner and he seemed open to the possibility of my participation, but first we needed to rig the boat.  The first project was riveting on the gooseneck which took a little time.  As no one seemed to have a real idea of what needed to be down, Jim and the owner soon had the spars in place, which seemed to be all salvage from other boats.  It was kind of jury rigged and made due with what was lying around but when it was all done it was a sailing boat.  It was also getting kinda late in the day and we were supposed to do a trial run with the boat.   By the end of it all, 20 feet from the surf was the closest the boat got to the water, which it had not touched I learned in more than two years.  I was beginning to wonder if we would be done and over to the start in Hillsboro in time tomorrow.  Everyone seemed unconcerned including the owner and what I learned where to be two of the crew.  I had trouble following some of the conversation, some of it seemingly heated, but everyone departed on good terms and we finished the day drinking beer one of the nearby rum huts, a bar that seemed to be under construction as we stood in the sand courtyard.  At dusk the owner gave Jim and I a ride back to our anchorage.

The next morning we took a bus to a point where we could walk a short trail through some residential area and forest that emptied out on the beach near the boat, which by the way is called 'ACE'.  She is a double ended sprite rigged sloop, though the rigging seemed to be a bit ad hoc.  I got to know the owner-captain, named Leo, a little more.  He was on the race committee and it was with not a little bit of competitive spirit that he was getting ACE ready for the race.  There seemed to be a great deal of competition between he and another captain from Bequie.

The pace of work was slow and at the end of the day we still had some issues left to resolve in preparing Ace for the regatta.  No one seemed unduly concerned even though ti was apparent that our sail over to the beach in Hillsboro, where the start line was, would be our shake down cruise as well. 

Finally the first day of the regatta arrived, and a local sailor named Gerald, who would be what I could only describe as our sail master, who would call out course, tactics and trim, plus two other local crew, not to mention Jim and me.  As the boat is launched with the main raised and the jib bent on.  It seemed that as soon as the boat was floating clear of the shore, we were scrambling onboard the quickly accelerating hull.  With the jib raised we shot away from the beach and were sailing along briskly, as I scrambled into the position designated for me, alternating between jib trimmer, bailing, and hiking out on the weather rail.  As these Cariacou boats have little in the way of ballast, a few fertilizer bags of sand, most of the crew spent much of the time shifting there weight to accommodate the angle of sail.   A couple of tacks brought us around the point of land that separated Paradise Beach with Hillsboro Bay and it was an exciting run right up to the beach, jumping out seconds before hitting sand to push the hull up onto land.  The party was in full swing, with loud speaker blaring soca and reggae music, numerous crew and spectators walking among the brightly colored boats, awaiting the official start of the various race classes.  The islanders here like there beer strong and their music loud.  Several times I walked too close to the speakers, meaning 20 feet away, and I could feel the vibrations in my chest.  It felt like my heart was going to jump out of my throat at times.  Jim and I assisted Leo and Gerald in the final preparations for the race start, filling ballast bags with sand, arranging lines and final adjustments to the rig.  

The start of the race was a somewhat chaotic affair, with crews all muscling their boats into the surf.  Again as soon as the boat was afloat, most of us scrambled aboard, incurring another round of bruising and tangled lines.  The start itself was the signal to raise the jib and we were off.  On the first day of racing their were only three boat, including ACE, in our class, but one boat in particular, was always in Leo's sights, the Bequie boat.  The third boat, Iron Mike, over 100 years old and actually made in Nantucket, seemed to be a little slower than the rest of us.  There was a lot of yelling, in accents and vernacular that if not Jim, I certainly found difficult, but we made a good showing and came in a close second to the Bequie boat.  It was exhausting and soon after the days racing I was riding back to Tyrell Bay in the back of Leo's pickup in the early evening.  Great fun and was looking forward to another day on board ACE, that is if I was needed. 

The next morning, I rode my bike the short ride around the island to Hillsboro the for next days racing.  This was to be the main day, with two races for each class.  The harbor and beach were crowded with sails, both of local participant boats and some cruisers here to watch the race.  On this day, I found myself being the main sheet man.  I was glad that I had remembered to bring some gloves for the main sheet had to be trimmed without the benefit of any cleats, much less a winch.  As usual the scheduled start time passed and people were still rigging boats, drinking beer and talking to each other.  Finally the rest of the crew ambled over to ACE and we muscled the boat around and into the surf.  With no warning the official announce that the start for our class would be in 3 minutes and then things really got exciting.  As the boat finally cleared the shore we all scrambled into the boat, grunting and falling all over ourselves, adding to the bruises already acquired in previous racing..  At the announcement of the start, Jim and Gerald (our tactician) raised the jib and we shot out away from shore, in the lead of the other two boats by a couple of lengths.  My hand soon became cramped with holding the main at the proper trim, or at least trying to do so, much to the loud coaching of the rest of the crew.  I don't know exactly where we were in the standing by the end of the race but in this heat we came in first just beating LIMBO DANCER, the Bequie boat and our main competition.  This made Leo our captain, very happy and we drank beers on his tab after the race.  But the party was not over yet for another race was scheduled for around 2.

Around 3:30, the same start scenario happened again, a little buzzed from the strong beer they serve here, but alert and ready to compete, we shot off at the start.  Jim and I noticed the menacing dark cumulous cloud to windward of the bay, as we made for the first the first mark.  It was gonna blow and I was not just a little nervous in the fact that these stout little sloops with their large sail area included no way to reef any of the sails.  It was all out or nothing with these guys.

Approaching the first mark we had taken the lead.  The mark was actually an island called the Sisters.  It was surrounded by reef and the windward shore which formed the mark was a jumble of shear boulders.  The first race we made this mark with little more than 5 feet from the rocks.   The captain insisted this was the way to go, even though we were almost becalmed as the wind was blocked or shifted by the Sisters.  Just as we came around back into the wind we were swept up in a sudden gust, the boat healed before I could ease the mainsheet and we swung violently into the wind almost going into irons.  I should of anticipated this and the jib sheet man was also caught off guard.  But our attention was now latched onto the upwind leg of the race and the looming squall line that already had crossed the start line and was bearing down on us.  We had just completed the first  tack when the wind shifted,  briefly calmed, then rapidly freshened, growing to 20 knots with a driving rain. Visibility was down to a quarter mile at best and between alternately hardening and easing the sheets, adjusting course and madly bailing, the boat was a scene of flailing arms and legs.  The boat was bucking and way overpowered as we were flying way too much canvas.  It was crazy as the boat would either want to heel over with water coming in green waves into the hull and then wanting to go into irons and tack.  Leo, Gerald and the other crew were yelling contradictory orders that I had a hard time adjusting trim fast enough, mush less keep a grip on the sheet.  In the middle of this maelstrom Leo decided that we should tack.  We were about 2 miles offshore, in a small boat with way too much sail up, wind hollowing and waves broaching the bow.  Our first attempt at reef was a fiasco, as the boat came about into the wind it seemed to stop and could not make the turn.  We just could not make enough way or speed so that ACE could come about into the other tack.  It was scarey and out of control and I stayed focused on the mainsheet while alternately riding the rail or jumping down into the bottom of the boat to help react to heel.  There were two men on the trapeze and I was lending my weight by riding the rail just to keep the boat on an even keel.  On the third try we finally made the tack but again the main, taking up the wind heeled the boat way over and the helmsman over compensated to bring her more to wind.  I was hiked way out on the rail as the boat was almost on its ear, when the rudder finally bite, the boat righted itself, but also suddenly released the load on the sheet.  It was the load on the sheet that I was keeping balanced and basically on board.  When it released, I was over the side in an instant.  Fortunately I had the presence of mind, more likely survival instinct, to hang onto the line; no way I was going to be swimming out in these conditions as far offshore as we found ourselves.  Even though I was back aboard, performing on adrenaline and fear, within 20 seconds, the boat was completely in irons and going onto the original tack again.  Jim later said he never someone climb back into a boat so fast.  I felt I was almost in shock and was all I could do just to concentrate on the lines again.  Another 2 attempts and we finally made the tack just as the squall was blowing over.  It was maybe 15 minutes for all this to happen but it was enough to blow the race for us.  The rest of the crew was sullen and I couldn't help but feel that a lot of the blame was on me for going over the side.  We made the best of the race with Jim goading the Grenadian crew that the race wasn't over yet and that we still had a chance.  Leo was muttering to himself, using oaths that a religious man usually wouldn't use, the crew was quiet except when occasionally rehashing what had happened.  One thing was apparent was that these guys were competitive.  Earlier, I heard a story about Gerald falling over in a race.  The boat kept on sailing so as not to lose time.  That was of course in clear conditions and there was numerous chase boats close by.  This was probably on my mind when I found new reserves of strength in my hands as I was dragged through the waves.  I wasn't going to be left behind no sir.  As it was we came in second but I was feeling so down, that I had let the boat down though I knew that it wasn't entirely my fault.  We finished the race third.  After the boat was squared away on the beach, I headed to the bike.  On the way there I ran into Leo and apologized for going over the side and screwing the race.  The sullen angry face was replaced with a big smile, laughing he said "NO PROBLEM MON!", and that he wanted me on board tomorrow for the last race.  I was elated and relieved.  I really enjoy sailing on these boats, and especially liked to make friends in the local boating community, really getting more of the island experience than just hanging out with other cruisers.

  Again, I rode back to the anchorage, exhausted but elated.  The following day, arrived first light in Hillsboro to find bodies strewn everywhere, sleeping off the previous nights festivities.  The usual bottles and Styrofoam food containers littered the beach and streets, the usual detritus of a nights' bacchanalia in the islands.   

 

Slowly the crews roused themselves, got something to eat or just a Guinness for breakfast, and the last race of the day commences.  It went a lot better this time and Ace came in first this time in almost a perfect sail.  At the end of the day I joined Jim and his family for lunch and some cold beers under the awning set up for the crews and families.  There was a lot of back slapping and laughing, as other crews would come up to you to revisit the days racing and the outcomes.  Jim and I were the two of the three visitor crews and we felt really welcome and part of this famous regatta. 

 

Two days later I rode my bike back into Hillsboro and except for the flags stretched across the street and the food and drink stalls being torn down there was not sign of the regatta festivities.  All the garbage had been cleaned up and the streets were pretty much deserted.  I was going to ride that day across the island to Windward, the settlement where these boats were mostly designed and built.  Occasionally a car would pass and someone would stop and say hi, a regatta friend I had met the days before.  It was a hot steep climb up the mountain, but at the top I was met with a spectacular view.  The down hill, a little bumpy, and I was in Windward.  The area very rural, interspersed with the occasional shop or rum  hut.  Mostly men, lounging in the shade around the bus stops or under a shade tree.  Like elsewhere, no one in any particular hurry to do anything.  It's a culture that defiantly runs on a different schedule or for that matter no schedule at all.  It was a holiday week so now one was at the boat yard so I just looked at the beautiful sloop taking shape in the yard, barely twenty yards away. She was a 50 or so feet with a sleek shape and raked stern, definitely destined for pleasure rather than freight.  It also had the classic Cariacou bow, almost vertical with wide beam and a slight tumble home.  It was just the frame of the boat, surrounded by piles of wood ships and sawdust.  No power tools are used in the fabrication of these magnificent boats.  The history of the ship yard goes back to the 18^th century when the British, then in control of the area, brought in Scottish ship wrights to build a fleet of trading sloops and whaling boats.  Gradually, probably from prolonged exposure to the Caribbean sun, the Scots gradually became very tan, till now you meet locals in Windward with last names prefix of MAC or Mc.  Its really neat to walk through the old graveyard.  Though only two boatyards seem to be operational, there were several more previously.  Now with the interest of some offshore boaters to have one of these boats, several have been commissioned plus locals have the smaller sloops and sprit rigs built for racing.  

I stayed in Tyrell for a week longer, riding the bike, and playing dominoes with the locals at one of the rum huts near by.  As the harbor slowly emptied of cruisers, all heading further south, came time for me to make the jump and join friends for the big carnival in Grenada.

montserat pic

alot of the island is covered in rainforest.  Did a great wet hike in the rain up to a set of waterfalls.  The rootsman bar is one of many rum houses where I met an employee of the observatory who gave me a ride to the observatory.  Took the view from there.  most of the houses you see in the picture have been abandoned since 96 being in the exclusion zone.  The island is very rural with small villages, no real main town.  A new capital is being built in Little Bay.  Finally a picture of my anchorage.  If you look to the left of natie m. you can see that police boat that pulled my anchor out. 

montserat

I took this picture of the anchorage from the Monserat Volcano Observatory.  Met a scientist who worked there and she gave me ride up.  The other picture is of Plymouth, the old capital, which was destroyed by pyroclastic flow in 96.  There are alot other great pictures on the net if you search montserat.

Cariacou Tyrell Bay

another wonderful place to add to the list.  Cariacou which is part of Grenada.  People are so friendly and welcoming.  Got a place on a local sloop for the regatta this weekend.  Spent the day yesterday on Paridise Beach rigging boats for the races today. 

below is the posting of the first half of my trip down.  Hope its entertaining.

 

July 20, 2010

Well I find myself anchored most securely on the windward side of the Soufriere volcano of Montserrat.  An island that I had an interest in since when the volcano erupted in 96 and made most of the island uninhabitable.  I came into Old Road Bay small bay right on the edge of the exclusion or 'no go' area near the volcano.  I had come in just ahead of some nasty weather ahead, hoping to get some sleep before continuing south.  I have been racing against what has seemed as a continuous succession tropical waves, bringing storms and gusty winds and waves and numerous squalls.  Same old slog to weather.

But I get ahead of myself.

I spent almost two weeks in St Martin, most of it having a pretty good time.  After clearing in at Marigot, the next day I sailed up to Frere's bay to watch the Netherlands and Uruguay match and enjoy the beautiful beach there.  From there I basically short sailed from bay to bay until reaching the northeastern side of the island and the shelter (sort of) of Oriente Bay.  Its pretty built up since the publication of the pilot guide, jet skis and excursion boats buzzing about the wide and shallow bay, protected to the east by a small island and barrier reef.  I was intent on once again catching the next match of the cup at a comfortable venue; bar on the beach basically.  I took the ULI surfboard into what looked like the most likely spot, a quiet end of the beach with a small restaurant surrounded by several cottages.  By now I had gotten used to the charming tendency for women here to sunbath topless.  What I did discover though that the beach I had landed was actually clothing optional.  There were some participants there that I may not have chosen to see naked but oh well, it was certainly a cure for elevator eyes.  After checking with the bartender, who was the only one there besides me with pants on, that they would be showing the match, I ordered a beer.  Of course so that I would not stand out in the crowd I returned to the beach and left my pants at the board.  It was a first, whooping and hollering watching the match with a hundred football fans, all in they're birthday suits.  I would have taken a photo, but the numerous signs gave indication that that was a definite faux pas.  It would have made quite the picture though.

As it was a rolly and windy anchorage that night, and sleep was difficult that night, the next morning when to the offshore island of Tintamare.  I would have stayed longer in Oriente, no doubt saving tons of money on laundry, but the current latitude was a little high for this time of year.  Certainly the secession of tropical waves that had stymied my southerly progress was a reminder what could be coming in the not to distant future. 

 

Tintamarre's storied history and status as a park attracted me and I set off for the short sail there.  Mooring right off the island on the lee side, I ULI'd into the small crescent beach.  The shore was forested but the interior I found was mostly scrub, the prickly scratchy kind.  There was a path leading to the ruins of the once ruler of the island, a character that briefly set up his own little fiefdom, raising cotton and goats with his hundred or so loyal subjects.  All that was gone now except for what I was told was a hardy homesteader who was trying to raising ostriches there.  Well I found the ruins and possibly the camp of the homesteader, long abandoned, but no ostriches.  I did find some beautiful cliffs and shoreline on the eastern shore there with dramatic drops and bird life.  Spent most of the morning walking along the steep cliffs. The shore line was protected by a barrier reef, complete with a beached sailboat, another reminder of the dangers of a lee shore.  Once reaching the far side of the island from the boat I thought the quickest way back would be to cut across the island.  This ended up a long slow zig zag following goat trails through the bracken.  Legs were all scratched up before I was able to make the high rise overlooking the Natie M. calmly bobbing at the mooring.  There were several charter cats there by now and picnickers on the beach.

Continued my sail back toward Marigot stopping for the night at several of the small bays, mostly quiet and secluded with resorts, some quite fancy, along the beaches.  At Anse Marcel I was boarded by the Gendarme de la Mer.  Five French coasties, came aboard my little blue boat to check my papers.  They were pretty friendly but one got serious about fining me for not having a bottle of California wine that I had been drinking. 

Back at Marigot, I continued to wait for favorable weather.  I spent the time exploring the island more, this time by bicycle.  I road along the south coast of the island to the Dutch side, ostensibly to watch the cup matches, third place and the next day, the final, at a boater popular bar.  The place made my prime criteria for bars and restaurants, $1/beer, served in buckets of ice! 

The third place match was exciting with some interesting characters hanging around the bar but the next day when I rode my bike up to the front the place was packed with lots of orange wearing Dutch whooping and swilling beer.  I squeezed to the bar and ordered my bucket and tried to find a spot with an unobstructed view of one of the 10 widescreens hanging on the wall or any other flat surface.  Wonderful party, only slightly tempered by the outcome of the game.

 

On the afternoon of the 10^th, moved the Natie M. around to the southern Dutch side of the island. My intention was to stage from Simpson Bay before heading south.  The weather wasn't great but I was beginning to think it was the best I was going to get.  I was hoping to make for Barbuda, taking advantage of a day of forecasted light NE winds.  As I arrived after business hours I was going to avoid clearing in.  0600 the next morning was hauling in the anchor.  Cool calm breeze blowing out of the NE, I put the boat into a turn away from the wind, gybing, when bottom of the main took on an unnatural shape.  It took a couple seconds or so, before I realized that the boom had broken near the gooseneck, where it attaches to the mast.  Any consternation at this disturbing development was eliminated by the realization that what this malfunction would have meant out in the deep water.  Motored somberly back to my original anchorage, one that I had left barely 5 minutes earlier.  Upon discovering that the cast aluminium gooseneck fitting had snapped off, looking like the thing was held together by the chalk like corroded metal.  About 18 inches of the foot of the main sail was ripped.  Great now I was looking for a metal shop and a sail maker.  I lashed the boom and loaded the main sail into the dingy and zipped in to first clear in.  A local charter captain who witnessed my curious short sail, gave me the name of the local fixit guru. 

Within 24 hours I not only had the  boom repaired, but the rip sewed on the main sail. I picked up both, got them back to the boat and by lunch had the boom rigged and the main bent on.  A little poorer for it, but immensely sobered again at the timeliness of the particular boat fix.  The combination of both high UV and salt has taken its toll on my little boat.  I've become accepting of the fact that sailing a vintage, read 'old boat', in the Caribean, involves a lot of time and money spent on repairs.  Things just break here.

Once I could feel that the boat was ready, (is that possible now?) I cleared out from the Dutch side and prepared to depart the following morning on the 17^th I set out, leaving behind a memorable first visit to St Martin.  If island could have astrological signs, St Martin would be a Gemini.  Two distinct cultures, different governments and languages.

In the tourist areas, its clean and choked with duty free stuff; in the outer neighborhoods a little more gritty.  On the Dutch side a more party like atmosphere reigns along with consumer duty free crack houses, disguised in quaint colonial architecture. At least on the French side it's a little more refined, and of course, clothing optional.

It was twenty hours later and I anchored in Nevis shortly after midnight.  It was an exhausting sail.  The waves were steep, and on the bow.  As usual my hoped for northeaster failed to materialize and I was on the windward side of St Kitts before cutting through the Nevis passage in the calm lee of Nevis.  The passage was one of either the most memorable bits of sailing or as is most likely, the stupidest.  Narrow and dotted with hunks of rock and coral along with a nice little current under a black sky.

 

Met a wonderful couple on their Lagoon catamaran from Australia who had an amazing ability to generate ice on board.

My first attempt to leave Nevis was canceled once I hit the 8 footers around the corner from the island.  The next morning, again at six I was raising sail and once I was in the deeper water of the channel the sea settled into a more manageable roll.    I was going to bypass Montserrat, but nearing the last anchorage and the looming dark clouds to the south, decided to take shelter in a small bay right on the border of the exclusion zone of Montserat.  The zone is that area of the island that is either uninhabitable due to the gasses and occasional boulders that the Soufriere Hill volcano spits out.  After 13 hours of rough going I was in the mood for some sleep. 

As it had been squally most of the day, the river empting into the bay, I noticed, was loaded with sediment, almost a gray color.  Probably a lot of ash, as the river valley went almost directly towards the north face of the volcano.  The island is lush and beautifully vegetated, but the slopes of the volcano are a gray, barren dotted with house sized boulders and ash.  I got a view of Plymouth, the former capital, when I sailed in and it was sad to see the roof tops peaking out of the huge amount of lava and ash that had buried it.   I came into the small harbor, noticing the abandoned houses on one side of the bay, and the other homes, apparently still maintained but dark.  (Found out later there was a power outage that night).  I snuggled up to the shore away from the out flow of the river and dropped the anchor.  Exhausted, made a quick meal and watched the sun set on the steaming and desolate volcano.

 

 It was a restless night with some rolling and several gusty squalls coming through.

Which brings me to the situation I found myself when first writing this post.  At first light was hauling in the anchor to continue my trip south.   I discovered, however, that the anchor was firmly stuck down there.  The thought came to my mind that the chain was horribly wound around the trees, boulders that would have washed down the river since the eruption.  The depth sound showed 32 feet, not the depth I would prefer to free dive down to.  It took two attempts to find the bottom and found that the anchor was not fouled on something but buried in a coarse silty bottom.  Just the very end of the anchor shank was poking out the dark grey sand.   It took two other dives to realize that I was no way going to dig that sucker out.   I had 30 feet of chain and ten feet of rope and the rode was almost vertical.

Ok.

First of all, I was a little loathe to abandon $500 of ground tackle to the volcano. Second this fascination with volcanoes was getting a little crazy if not potentially expensive.

I was not intending to inform the local authorities of my presence but this seemed unavoidable.  I was in a bay literally at the foot of an active volcano, my anchor stuck in the mud as it were and the only houses overlooking my situation, were either abandoned or unoccupied (both true I later learned).  Got the harbor master on the VHF and they said they would send somebody.  Nothing to do but start to write this post.

About two hours later, the sound of big outboards announces the arrival of the local police in a spiffy police boat.  I was thinking during this time that what I really need is someone with some SCUBA to rent, not the police.  Officer Kelly, once informed of my problem, said they would try to pull the anchor up with the help of two 250 HP Evinrudes.  I was a little doubtful but I put on a rolling hitch to the chain and within 30 seconds the anchor was free.  I was so relieved I decided that a couple of days on Montserrat were in order plus the cops were expecting me to clear in now.  I guess the volcano wants me to stay awhile. 

Bequie

Hi, alot of hard miles and much to relay. Am in Bequie safe and sound.  Sail for Cariacou where I will be staying for awhile and post.
mark

just in case...

Sorry for the long absence, have been dealing with weather and anchorages with no wifi.

St Martin to Nevis to Montserat to Dominica.  Arrived Dom this morning 0630. I'll post asap. Weather has been a bitch.

Plan on staying Dominica for a couple of days depending weather.

Mark

frere's bay beach

did I mention, every anchorage so far I have been able to get wifi from the boat!!  So far the island is lousy with wifi!

PART TWO St Martin

as I was saying It was late in the afternoon when I arrived in Marigot. 

There is a big breakwater there and I tucked in on the lee side along with some other cruisers.  Marigot is a bustling little town and I could see small vans and cars wheeling alongside the boulevard next to the shore.  After dinner I sat in the cockpit listening to a live band playing African/ reggae music.  I was still too tired to make the trip in so elected to lie in my berth and listen there.  Probably heard all of two songs before drifting off.

 

Next morning caught the broadcaste of the local cruisers net and got some good info on clearing in procedures.  Apparently the fees for this can vary depending on which office you go to. I ended up taking the boat through the draw bridge on the French side and anchored in teh laggoon early in the morning.  When I found the harbor master I was able to clear in the most painless manner I have yet to encounter in this whole trip.  I was directed to a computor terminal where after entering the relevent information, pressed print, another guy stamped it, I turned over $6 US and I was on my way.  I couldn't believe it. 

 

The rest of the day I was going to devote to riding the bus over the Dutch side to check on hauling out supplies and that took most of the day.  I did get a chance though to check out Phillipsburg and Cole Bay.  Iwas not impressed with either.  The former has sold its sole to the cruise ships making all the colonial dutch archetecture marred by sign advertising duty free this and duty free that.  The later is alot of strip development. I did get some supplies and stopped at a famous watering hole in Cole Bay called Tuppers.  Met some funny Brazilians off a mega yacht and they remosed over their lose in the World Cup.  Of course they got no sympathy from the Brits at the bar.

 

Finally after a grueling taxi ride back to Marigot; by the way take the bus, the taxis, though more numerous can be packed with people who are not particularly friendly and in need of a shower.  Back to the boat for the night.

 

Up early and through the bridge.  While I did some much accumilated laundry the Fort Louis marina, I walked about marigot.  Its a shopping tourist town though with a little more class.  First of all its not as congested with watch and jewelry shops.  Alot of small cafes and well known French restaurents along the boulevards or 'rue de' and 'rue dat'.  Trees and narrow pedestrian alleys too.  Everyone I met there was very French and friendly too.  The pilot book called it a little piece of the French Riviera.

Around noon I got back to the boat and after some lunch, pulled up the anchor and motored up to another recomended spot, Frere's Bay.  Small and reasonably sheltered I anchored and spent the day swimming, watching the cup with some French guys (go netherlands!) and just chilled, joining some of the other sunbathers who were also topless.  I could get used to this.  Tomorrow will continue my clockwise circumnavigation of the island starting first thing in the morning......

st martin transit

As I said before I made it to St Martin after a stimulating 31 hour trip.  The models I was using to predict wind direction, or the subtle variations thereof, were pretty on the mark, however, I made some tactical errors which didn't help.  I took off immediately after the soccer match between Germany and Brazil and left through the narrow channel through the barrier reef at the end of Virgin Gorda.  There were some seas, but nothing that was too crazy so I rigged up my high tech auto pilot (read: two bungee cords) and settled in with my book.  I figured sail as far north east as possible in anticipation of the east northeast wind later in the evening, then tack and hopefully have a straight shot for St Mart.  At one point I was laying on the windward, or "high' side of the boat reading and dozing.  Well I muxt have dozed more than read, because I woke with a start at the sound of waves breaking.  Less than a hunded yards away, big breakers were foaming on a major reef.  I cleared it easily but looking at the breakers a mile off covering almost half of the horizon, I realized that I was about to run into Horseshoe Reef on the eastern end of Anagada.  Checking the charts I was forced to sail almost directly south, skirting the reef till I was clear.  This took up a couple of hours and took me way out of my way.  A somewhat inauspicious start to the passage. 

What lay ahead was clear open ocean all the way to St Mart and of course the wind was on the nose. 

The passage itself, except for the tacking and waves was pretty much manageable, though not the most comfortable.  I am so looking when I can take the friggin trades on the beam for a change though I expect a good share of south east winds with all these tropical waves coming through as of late. 

The night sailing was only marred by the occasional, rather than continuous, waves over the bow, though a couple took me by surprised.  As the Sombrero passage is heavily traveled by commercial boats including tugs and barges, I frequently stuck my head out around the dodger to check for traffic.  In the middle of night I crawled up out of my reclined position in the cockpit and stuck my head out on the weather side, just at the precise moment that a nice slap of black water hit the side of the boat drenched me.  I was so startled by the water up the nose and in my mouth, I had to laugh.  The rest of the evening went ok though it was too rough to cook. 

The next morning I could see the greyish outling of my destination.  The wind was moderate through dawn and I thought I would not have to beat directly into the wind so eased the sheets a bit making for a more comfortable heel.  Unfortunately the trades had something else in mind and around mid morning picked up in the 15 kt range and of course veered right onto the nose.  What does this wind have against me.  Between the waves that were picking up and the tacking it took me 4 hours to make the last 5 miles to the anchorage at Fort St Louis near M

St martin

just in case anyone was worried, I made it to St Martin, ariving on the 3rd after a 30 plus hour passage.  tack tack tack tack with occasional waves over the bow.  Would have written earlier but the French insist on 220 volt.  Got a convertor though and will write of the passage and impressions of St martin. Having a good time and have made some friends here. Now off to watch the cup!

staging for St Martin

Sitting this morning at the Saba Rock Bar.  Picture a rock totally occupied by a pocket sized resort.  Teh bar as a complete view of Gorda Sound which is a large bay bordered by the east end of Virgin Gorda, some small islands and barrier reefs.  With several channels through the shallows, its an excellent jump off, least of all for the reason of cable television, which this  morning is featuring the much anticipated Germany - Argentina match.  I am delaying my departure till after the match, though I am well into my window, to enjoy the excitement.  Right now, its just me and the Moorings manager at the bar, sans bartender, discussing the cup and awaiting the start of the match in a couple of minutes. 

Should be underway around noon and expecting light easterly winds for around 24 hours of tacking the 75 miles to St martin.  Yesterday met an interesting Dutch singlehander who lives there and who promised to show me around.  Plan on getting the materials for haul out there (duty free), and maybe a new digital camera which is why I haven't beenn posting any pictures lately. 

in Transit

Hi all!  (note that my caps is not working today, love my computor!)

Left coral bay and St john finally!  Larissa has decided that she cannot make this trip so I'm single handing again, in more ways than one.  As conditions have not been condusive to an immediate departure from the virgins have been working my way to Virgin Gorda to await a window to St martin.  Spent the first night after clearing in at road Town where I finally was able to cash in some gift certificates from some of the races Natie M competed in.  Got some electrical parts for the boat and a nice photo print for my mom.   Before returning to the boat, stopped at a sports bar to catch some cup action and ran into a friend, so much for the afternoon.

 The next day sailed to the northwest end of Tortola to a little secluded bay called josiah's bay.  Small bay but was able to get the anchor set in some good sand in between the rock and coral.  This bay is classic carribean scenic with the stretch of white sand beach in front of a large valley that gradually rose up to green mountains.  just a couple of villas to blot the view on the distant mountain side.  Went hunting for the Tamarind club where I hoped to cash in in a gift certificate for dinner for two (now one) at the Tamarind club, a quaint little resort in the valley here.  It was a beautiful walk up the valley away from the water.  ruins and local housing with dense jungle pressing on both sides of the road; all the things I love about Tortola.  Got picked up by a local who drove me the last quarter mile to the club, but first trying to get me to take a room at his mothers place first.  I had to explain that I was just going to the Tamarind club for drinks and the cup.  As I did not have a dinner partner, the owner was nice enough to allow me to hang with the other guests, watch the Spain/Portugal match in the Cup, and basically drink and eat up the $100 gift cert that I won in the Dark and Stormy regatta.  Met some fellow yanks and lounged in the pool next to the bar.  Even the two bartenders were yanks.  With all the immigration restrictions these guys managed to get a dream job.  I've pumped them for tips but if basically boils down to finding a local sponser.  Gonna look more into that for work in the future.  The only jobs I've found in my field (old field that is) have been located in St Thomas (known locally as St Trauma) where I thouroughly loathe.  Anyway it was as little of a hike up the road to get there,  but it was well worth it.  The food and converstaion was excellent.  Not a good day for Portugal though.  Got back to the boat by 6pm and watched a horse trainer take a swim with a friend.  Asleep, as I am wont to do when underway by 7. 

This morning sailed to Virgin Gorda and my Spanish Town anchorage in front of my favorite hotel with WIFI and where I hanged with my brother (aka: mark anthony) while I waited for our southern passage to Antigua.  The Fischer's Bay Hotel is located on same and as the local charters specifically forbid their boats from anchoring here its usually empty.  Access is gained through a key hole channel in the coral reef into a small sand bay in front of the hotel.  In most conditions it very sheltered and I can sit at the bar, do wifi, and watch the natie m. bob calmly at anchor, just the way I like it. 

I'll probably head to Gorda sound at the end of the island and the jump off for St martin sometime tomorrow, or the next having refueled and taken on water here in Spanish town.  Gorda sound is kinda remote, cept for the famous Bitter End Yacht club  and a small settlement. I may be forced to catch the next match there unless of course the weather breaks.  Ok thats it, hope to be writting alot this trip.  Finally gonna head southwards after a year of hanging in the virgins but first east to St martin.

best to all and hope to hear back,

mark 

 

Heading South

After a year in the USVI and St John, I'm making plans to sail to Grenada and possibly beyond for the hurricane season.  Its been a great time, most of the time, and I've made some great friends here, one in particular will be joining me for the trip.  Larissa is a live aboard here in St John and we've been dating and sailing together for the past year.  I'm so excited to have her with me and to share the trip south, exploring new islands and peoples.  We plan on hitting as many islands on the way down as long as weather permits and to be safely anchored below the hurricane line before the hurricanes.  I hope to post of our travels as we go.
Mark

Antigua Classic

the past two days has seen some great sailing and racing on the waters off Fallmouth Harbor, antigua.  Learned alot about offshore racing from the Captain Marty Halpern of the RUFFIAN.  Today was nice with great east wind and less waves.  It was alot warmer with the sun this time.  Tomorrow morning sailing for Nevis for some rest and recovery.